Hetalia theories
by TwilightObsessed91
Summary: Alright, I've seen a few people doing this and figured I would as well, because I have many ideas. I don't own Hetalia (I always forget to do disclaimers) and if there is a similarity between one of my theories and another person's I do apologize. These will be creepypasta-esc so, there's your warning.
1. Lichtenstein

The rain poured down harshly against Lilli's skin, drenching and darkening the color of her braided hair as she stumbled through the dark streets of Lichtenstein, her home country. The eleven year old girl was weak and hungry, having run away from her abusive father a few hours ago. She was frail and nearly always sick die to the lack of mind he paid her, and many of her bones had been broken at least once. She couldn't even remember the last time she had consumed a proper meal; most nights, she simply crept down to the kitchen and snuck a morsel or two, praying that she wouldn't be caught.

Lilli's torn dress swept was soaked through, chilling the child to the bone as she sat down on the pavement and wept into her hands, knowing she was going to die. Her life was going to end here and now. She just hoped she made it to Heaven.

Her body lay limp against the building she had been leaning against. She would be found in the morning by a police officer, malnourished, drenched, and with a sad little smile upon her soft lips, tears still staining her cheeks. Her father would be arrested for child neglect and abuse, but even that could not bring back the young girl's life.

"Are you alright?"

Lilli looked up into kind, emerald eyes at a man who looked…kind of like her.

"Yes," she whispered softly, hoarsely.

"Come with me." The man said to her, offering the girl his hand, "What is your name?"

"I am Lichtenstein."


	2. Switzerland

Bach was only eighteen when he was enlisted and sent away. He said goodbye to his little sister, who was too little to remember him, and ignored his father as he stalked out of the house with his few belongings. The young man hated leaving his younger sibling with that bastard, but he had no choice, having no legal authority over the girl.

"I'm sorry, Lilli." He whispered as he left, his firearm in hand.

It was a few years later, at the age of twenty, that his life ended with the sound of a gunshot and the force of a bullet breaking through his ribcage, breaking the bones apart and causing internal bleeding. The death wasn't instant, it was slow and painful, drawn out. All Bach could think of as he drew his final breath, was the face of his young, three year old sister with her light brown braids and teal eyes. His Lilli, whom he would never see again.

"I'm sorry, Lilli," he wheezed as he bled out, "I'm sorry I couldn't take you from him."

"Hello?"

Bach turned to a brown haired boy clutching tightly to sheets of musical notes. "Guten tag."

"Guten morgen, actually. Ich heiBe Austria."

"I'm Switzerland. I think." The military raised boy declared.

"Come with me, I'll show you around." Austria said.

"Danke."


	3. America

Alfred was strong, he was fit, he was popular, he was attractive. Light brown hair that sometimes seemed dirty blonde when catching the light just right, fair skin, toned muscles, and brilliant blue eyes behind glasses he had lovingly referred to as Texas when he was younger, seeing as that was where he was originally from. He had moved to busy New York city at the age of eight with his mother, father, and twin brother Mathew. Now, at the age of nineteen, still in High school to his dismay, he was one of the best football players his school had and was on a free ride to any college in the USA.

Currently, he was chilling with his friends at a small, family owned burger joint. The smell of grease, milkshakes, and grilled beef overtook his nostrils as he stepped in with Mattie, Emily, and Joe. They found a table and sat down while Joe went up to order their food.

"So, big game tomorrow, huh?" Emily said, flipping her short blonde hair out of the way of her face.

"Yeah."

"I wish I could go, I'm sure you'll do great."

"Why can't you come and see for yourself?" he wondered aloud, raising an eyebrow.

"Suspended. Out of dress code." The girl huffed. She was a full two years younger than her best friend, but they had been close since their very young childhood when Alfred first moved to the streets of New York.

"Man, that's rough." The boy sighed.

Mathew nodded. Joe returned with a tray stacked high with burgers, French fries, sodas, and a milkshake for himself. He passed out the food to their respective owners and sat down next to Emily on the opposite side of the table as the twins. Alfred gratefully chomped down on his hamburger, juice and ketchup dripping down his chin unattractively as he slurped down his drink and inhaled his fries, causing Emily to laugh multiple times throughout the meal.

The next day, he would have won the game for his team and finished up the season with a bang, guaranteeing him a spot in some of the top colleges. But he didn't, because Mathew had headed home earlier and Alfred was now walking along the streets of New York in the chilly fall, at night, alone. As he walked, he thought he was hearing footsteps behind him, or near him at the very least, yet every time he turned, he saw nothing. Granted, that wasn't saying much, seeing as the night was dimly lit with a few flickering streetlamps and the crescent moon up ahead.

The boy stumbled a bit in his limited vision, hurting himself slightly. "Damn," he muttered with a grunt of pain, but he continued on.

It still sounded as though there were footsteps behind him, but he ignored the thought now, and simply continued walking. That is, until a loud bang and a shot of pain burst through him as he thudded to the ground. Footsteps again, but this time, they were running away. Crimson liquid leaked from the wound in his chest and the crack in his skull, and to the day, police would never figure out if the bullet killed him, or the bump on the head.

The sun sparkled behind a young boy as he ran through the grass, laughing, no memory of his former life to plague him. He stopped as he saw two blonde men standing there, arguing about who ought to own him. Little America.


	4. Japan

Kiku had been a small, frail boy living in a household made up of himself, his sickly mother Mei, and his gruff, unfeeling father, Akinari. Akinari had never wished for a child, but he dared not disown the little three year old toddler, for he recognized that the boy brought his beloved wife joy. Kiku was a happy toddler, always giggling and smiling, running around as hyperactive tots tended to, which brought great irritation upon his father. But the boy was kind, and rarely caused trouble, so Akinari felt he could tolerate him.

The first beating began on the night of his mother's death. The little black haired child sat on the floor with his Gameboy Color that his mother had insisted his father buy him for Christmas. Kiku was five now, and still a bright, happy kid. He knew not what was occurring in the other room, his parents' bedroom; all he knew was mama was always in bed because she didn't feel well and papa was always angry with him. He also knew that papa and mama had been in the room with the door closed for a very, very long time, and he was getting very, very bored.

Little Kiku climbed to his feet, his small, blue kimono dropping over his figure with the shift in movement. As formerly mentioned, the child did not get into mischief often, and even when he did, he tended to be minor infractions, but right now, the boy was _planning _on doing something naughty, simply because he had nothing else he wanted to do. It actually started with a boy at his school, who constantly rambled to his friends about the trouble he would cause; the boy was older than Kiku, but Kiku figured he could do it too. The black haired Honda boy stood in the kitchen, looking around for something to do, when he spotted some pocky on the counter. The treat would be in his reach if he pulled up a chair or some such, and stood atop it. The little boy did just that, dragging a wooden chair noisily across the tile and climbing on the seat, reaching a small, childish hand to the box of sweetness.

A hand gripping the back of his shirt and hurtling him off the chair, startled the boy. Tears welled in his bright brown eyes as he wailed, looking up at the culprit, who happened to be his father.

"Stupid boy! Anata ga okosu mono o miru? Anata wa tadashi nani mo surukoto wa dakimasen!" Akinari spat at the terrified child.

That was the night his mother died, and his father would never let him forget that somehow, it was his fault. Many beatings followed the first one for the young boy who eventually grew into a young man. He was still so slight for his age when he became a teenager. Short, thin. He was strong though, and smart. When he was thirteen, he was already taking classes intended for boys two years ahead. The only problem with that was, he was always the youngest in his classes, and he hated that. Kiku hated being small.

By eighteen, when he had long ago completed his schooling and was now in college, he was a very shy, quiet boy. When asked questions, he often took a while to contemplate the best way of answering, so as not to offend anyone. He apologized constantly, even for things that weren't quite his fault. Due to his long pauses and silent demeanor, some people often doubted him, but he always surpassed everyone academically. Despite this, however, his true passion came with drawing manga characters in his free time, and eventually, he would have actually completed the manga he was working on. He was going to call it Hetalia.

It was late in the night when he heard his father pounding on the door, shouting a string of curses at him. The terrified young man refused to answer, remembering the many scars, broken bones, and bruises he had accumulated over the years because of that man. That had been the entire reason Kiku had moved out the moment he was able; to get away from Akinari. When he heard the wood bending under the weight of his father's fists, he hid in the bathroom, with his incomplete volume of manga, praying that the older male would simply give up and go away. But fate didn't see eye-to-eye with these ideals.

The twenty-two year old closed his tear filled eyes and lowered his head when he heard his father break into the house, and he immensely regretted purchasing a home basically in the middle of nowhere, where no one would be able to save him even if he called for them. Without seeing the inebriated man, he knew he was there when he heard the door knocked off the rusted hinges which held them into place, and when he felt the stabbing pain of the Kitana sword in his chest. Blood splattered onto the pages of his nearly completed work of manga, as his life slipped away.

"Gomen." He whispered.

"What is the matter with you, Nihon?" China demanded as the small boy pulled away from his embrace, "You never even let big brother hug you?"

"Watashi wa hontoni moshiwake onii-chan!" the normally emotionally stifled child cried, looking up at the older nation, petrified but not sure why.

China's brown eyes softened, and he knelt down to the boy's level, "It is okay, Nihon. If you don't want to hug me, you don't have to."

**A/N I keep forgetting to explain why I chose certain things in the stories. With this one, I dressed little Japan in a blue kimono because if I remember correctly, I believe that is what he wears in the episode where chibi Japan is introduced. He is emotionally stifled and constantly apologizing and trying to "keep the peace" due to the abuse. Also, I decided to have his father use a sword rather than a gun or some such, because this is the weapon Japan uses, while most of the others use guns. I am not positive the Japanese is correct because I did it by memory because I hate using Google Translate (because I know that it is not always accurate) so if any of you are more fluent in Japanese and the grammar or spelling or something are incorrect, I sincerely apologize. I also added something about the episode where China introduces Japan as his little brother and Japan pauses for like an hour before saying "yes" and Japan shouts "What the hell took you so long?" by mentioning that he does not always respond to questions right away because I thought with the abuse it could be a suitable explanation.**

**In regard to Lichtenstein I wanted to start with the scene with her walking through the rain when Switzerland finds her because I could totally see the transition of her dying from hypothermia or starvation out in the rain and then waking up in the world of Hetalia in the same situation but with her big brother finding and saving her. I made her father neglectful/abusive because I couldn't find another reason for her to be starving and running away.**

**Switzerland, I made him a soldier because he has that military demeanor and is always carrying around a firearm so I felt that would be fitting. I also wanted him to actually be related to Lichtenstein because once she cuts her hair in the anime, I've always felt that she and Switzy look really similar. **

**I originally wanted America to be anorexic or something since he is always seen eating in the anime (but someone else already did that), or possibly obese and dying of diabetes or a heart attack/stroke, but since he is so fit and strong in the anime/webcomic that was out. This is because, I don't feel like the Hetalia world is Heaven or purgatory or anything, but as if God or something felt sorry for them because of their tragedies and reincarnated them in an alternate world or in the past or something as a person more than human, a country. Think Kingdom Hearts but with one of the characters from say Twilight Town being born again in maybe Halloween Town because they died very tragically. **

**With Russia I am stuck between having him freeze or having him being beaten with a metal pipe. Maybe both. I don't know; I guess I'll figure it out.**


	5. China

Yao was frantically cooking in his parent's kitchen in Beijing, China. The heat was intense and it was tiring, especially when he knew there was homework to be done and his little siblings were enjoying themselves in the next room. It angered the teenager. They were so loud, reminding him that he had never been able to play like that. Since his oldest younger brother, Chen, was born, he had always been in charge of taking care of the younger boy. He had only been eight at that time. Now, six other children sat in the next room laughing, chatting, and playing.

"Anjing!" the teen roared, ceasing all vocals from the younger kids.

The oldest child sighed guiltily and walked into the other room, taking his youngest sister, Ai, in his arms and apologizing softly. Cheng was the oldest, but he was still only ten, and had immediately gone to hide from Yao.

"Cheng, please come out from under the table. I am sorry I shouted."

Said boy poked his head out and stared into the light brown eyes of his older brother. His eyes were sincere and apologetic while their two year old sister rested her head against his collar bone, black curls falling over her face in waves. She looked very different from either boy, having taken after her father more than they did. Maybe that was why their mother seemed to favor her. Cheng finally crawled out from under the table completely and stood next to his brother. Yao smiled and called the rest of the children into the dining room for dinner.

Twins, Bai and Min sat next to each other with the youngest boy (at four years old), Ning, next to Min. Min looked kind of like a seven year old version of Ai, but with her mother's brown eyes rather than her father's and Ai's dark grey orbs. Ning appeared as a younger version of Yao, ponytail and all. Cheng took Ai and sat next to Bai, sitting Ai next to himself. Five year old Wen appeared in the doorframe not long after everyone else, aside from Yao were seated, and sat next to him. The small boy had black hair that fell into his brown eyes neatly with a vacant, expressionless face. He never seemed to show emotion, but Yao knew he simply held them back. He had heard the small child crying softly in the room most of them shared on some nights, usually on their father's birthday. He also used to notice a look of pure pain cross the kid's face every time little Ai asked about the whereabouts of her "Baba". Now, she knew better, though she still didn't understand the concept of death. She didn't want Cheng to yell at her, so she learned to stop asking questions. Bai was the one who seemed to stay cheerful and energetic no matter the hardship he was forced through. His clothes were almost always too big for him, sleeves drooping over his hands so he constantly had to pull them up in order to complete tasks such as eating properly.

Yao looked at all of them with a faint smile on his face, lovingly peering at each of his younger siblings' faces. Little Ai raised her small hand, looking up in Yao's eyes.

"Yao? When is Mama going to be home?"

Eh…I…do not know, Ai. Duibuqi." Yao sighed.

After dinner, the teenager tucked his siblings into their blankets on the floor of the cold room they shared with one another. Cheng and the twins were did not share that room; they roomed with Yao in the living room. It was a system set up by the oldest boy, to try to make the other children feel less cramped.

"Wan'an, Yao." Cheng whispered, snuggling against his older brother.

"Wan'an."

The fire burnt hot against his skin. Sweat poured down his face. The grease covering the floor and his body attracted the flames. Yao shouted for his younger siblings to run away, get out of the house. Get help, something. His skin felt as though it was being melted off of his bone, and maybe it was. Tears stung his eyes from the burning sensation, but also because he knew he had failed his younger siblings. He failed to protect them, and after his death, he would fail to be there for them.

China was walking through the forest, surrounded by the tall standing bamboo stalks, when he came across a small child. Black hair, brown eyes, and an expressionless face. China didn't know why, but he felt connected to the child somehow.

"Ni hao! You must be a new country. I'm sure it was rough on you to have been born in such a small place. My name is China, if there is something you don't know, all you have to do is ask. Now, do you mind telling me your name?" China said in a brotherly tone, as if he had done this all his life.

"Konichiwa, my name is Japan." The little boy responded.

**A/N I decided to make him die in a cooking accident because he is always holding that wok and pot(?) so I felt it was fitting. The best cooking accident I could fathom was a kitchen fire. He has many little siblings because he seems to be obsessed (in my opinion) with being the big brother of the Asian nations, so I thought it would be fitting if maybe he had a lot of siblings in his past life. I'll admit that I don't know a ton about life in modern China, so anything is drastically incorrect, I apologize. Also, with the Chinese, I Google translated "Wan'an" so that is the main thing I am concerned about. I am not very good at Chinese and do not know a lot, so if anything else is wrong, don't blame Google, it's my bad. Once again, I tried to use Google Translate as little as possible.**

**Also, with the little siblings, a couple of them were based on some of his younger siblings in Hetalia, but they are not the incarnations of his human siblings. For example, Wen was based on Japan and Bai was based on S. Korea. **

**For most of them, I am trying to make them die around the age I believe they appear in Hetalia, but seeing as his age is listed as 4000, I figured it was easier to make him a teenager in this even though I know he looks like an adult in Hetalia. **


	6. Canada

"Hey, are you new here?" A boy wearing a baggy, black band t-shirt and jeans that revealed a great deal of his "I love Rock and Roll" boxer shorts ran in front of Mathew, who instinctively put his books up, slightly hiding his face.

"No, I've been going here since Freshman year." Matt sighed.

"Oh yeah! You're the brother of Al, right? Man, he's great, ain't he?"

"Uh…yeah?" the dirty blonde haired boy laughed forcibly, "Yeah, he's a good brother."

"You're his younger bro, right?"

"No, no. W-we're twins."

"Twins? You mean you're nineteen too? Man, what is with you guys and failing?"

"I-I didn't fail. We had to start school late because of our birthday. I'm actually very good at my classes."

"Oh, okay. Well, see ya 'round…I guess." The other boy dropped the conversation lamely.

Mathew sighed. "Right, bye."

It was like this all the time. Most of the students here didn't remember him, because he wasn't all that important. He never joined any clubs, was quiet, didn't answer questions in class, wasn't a part of any sports, and wasn't very social. Most times, when someone did recall his name, they immediately engaged him in conversation of his brother, who of course was an important player on the football team and very social and friendly.

"At least they aren't mistaking me for him." Matt sighed.

That was actually the main reason he kept his hair longer. Having the same blue eyes and blonde hair (when they were younger anyway; now Alfred's hair had turned more brown) in the same style, everyone was constantly mistaking them for one another, including their parents. Matt had gotten tired of constantly hearing "Al, I thought I told you to pick up your toys," and hearing Alfred addressed as him, "Mattie, congratulations on getting this A on a test", so the boy asked his parents to allow him to change his hairstyle at the age of eleven. Now, eight years later, the same concept was in place, even though he didn't really didn't need it anymore, not now that Al's hair color had darkened.

The depression hit hard when he learned of his brother's death. He had become concerned when he woke up the next morning, and his irresponsible brother still hadn't returned home, but it never crossed is mind that his twin would be killed. Rather, he had figured the other boy had stayed the night at a friend's house and forgotten to call, or maybe had even managed to get his hands on some alcohol and got wasted or something. He would have preferred that over the truth. Al's body was found with a bullet wound in his chest at the side of a back road, but the police hadn't the foggiest idea why. It was even worse with the constant reminder at school. Kids constantly walked up to him with condolences and teachers talking about how great he was.

_If it were me, they wouldn't have even noticed. _Mathew thought glumly, tears pricking his eyes. _It should have been me. He was amazing, and he was going to get into college, no doubt about it. I'm still not sure. I haven't been accepted anywhere. And it's not like I'm Mr. Popular._

Mathew sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning as he listened to the dull, droning voice of his teacher, automatically taking notes by force of habit, even if he wasn't actually retaining any of the information.

If he heard someone mention how amazing his brother was one more time, he swore he was going to punch them. He had become very passive aggressive since the demise of his twin. His calm, collected, sweet demeanor morphed into that of a bratty, moody teen, constantly shouting at others and getting into a couple of fist fights. The pacifist that his few close friends had grown close to, became an angry bully with hatred for the world clutching his heart.

Tears streamed down the boy's cheeks this particular afternoon, his violet contacts blurred with the water that filled them. The gun was clutched tightly in his hand, he brought it up so that the front was pressed against the side of his head, and his finger squeezed the trigger. The bullet burst through his skull and planted itself into the young man's brain, killing him almost instantly with a sudden shot of pain.

A violet eyed child clutched tightly to his stuffed polar bear in the wilderness of Canada, running around freely with his brother.

"America!" he giggled as they played tag, "That's no fair, hiding in a tree. You know I can't climb it well."

The other boy, America, pouted slightly, but it was replaced with a wide grin as he stepped down from the plant, only to get patted on the back by his twin, who shouted out, "Tag! You're it!"

"No fair Canadia!" he shouted moodily.

"I'm Canada." The bear clutching boy sighed.

**A/N I wanted this to differ from "Forgotten" and also wanted to show his passive-aggressive attitude. I still felt like he would die from suicide though, so I decided to have him shoot himself. I justified these means (because I honestly couldn't figure out how he would kill himself) with why I don't believe he is ever seen holding a gun. Maybe he does, I don't remember a time though. I wanted to fit his bear somewhere in his teenage life, but honestly just couldn't manage because it was weird just randomly mentioning an old stuffed animal or something. It was so random. Fun fact: Originally I was going to have him jump out the window…but it didn't make sense so I had him use a gun.**

**I really like the scene at the end when their reborn; I may have to expand on that in a separate story, or even in a further chapter of this story. I don't know. I guess, tell me what you want. After all, a writer is nothing without her (or his) readers.**


	7. Russia

_Russia sniffled as his head hit the pavement hard. The other kids around him laughed at his pain._

That was then. This was now, and the days seemed promising. The young Russian smiled at the sunshine warming his face on the cold winter evening. He tugged his long coat around him tighter as he and his sister trudged through the snow frosted streets to their older sister's house.

"Ivan, are you sure we are going de right way, brother? I don't remember her house being so far away." Natalia spoke up in her rarely used but forceful voice.

"Da, sestra. You do not visit Yaketerina as often as I do. She has moved since den." Ivan confirmed.

"I suppose you are right, brother. I have not seen her in a long time." Natalia agreed.

The pair stopped when they came to the blue painted door of their sister's farm, and Ivan lifted his gloved hand to knock when he heard violent shouting from within. The door opened a moment later and out came their older sister, Yaketerina, furiously rubbing at tears which stung her eyes.

"Big sister, what is wrong?" Ivan asked, concerned.

"Hm? Oh, brother. I-I didn't know you were to be coming today." She sniffed, forcing a false smile upon her face, but being a very poor actress, it didn't fool her siblings one bit. "Oh, Natalia. I have not seen you in ages, my dear little sister. Come, let us take a walk and catch up."

The two younger people nodded numbly, following suite of their sister who was already walking at a fast pace down the sidewalk. Ivan was the first to catch up to her, having to steady her multiple times to stop her from slipping on ice.

"Sestra, I am glad that we came to visit you, but you must not hurry so, you will slip and harm yourself. Why were you crying just then?"

"Huh? Oh, it is nothing for you or Natalia to be concerned with, Ivan. It is just dat…nothing. It is fine. Now, enough about me. What have you two been up to?"

"I have been the same as when you last visited me, sister." Natalia answered softly.

"Da, me too."

"Well, dat is gracious news seeing as you two were doing quite well de last times I have seen you both. How are Mama and Papa?"

"Still old and senile." Natalia cracked a smile. Their parents were not truly senile, but sometimes it seemed that way with them. In all honesty, Yaketerina was the closest to them. The two younger siblings had always been closer to their older sister, than the mother who bore them or the father who was constantly working in the fields. Yaketerina was always the one who was there for them.

"Well, I do believe I should head back now. You two go on home, Ivan, Natalia…"

"But…we just arrived-" Ivan began to protest, but ceased when the older woman turned on her heel and returned to her home.

"I am worried about her." Natalia said softly.

"I am as well, sestra. But let us go home as well."

Natalia nodded and followed her brother to his home where his journey ended, then proceeding to walk the extra block to her own house.

Ivan had never liked that boy. His short cropped blonde hair and malicious brown eyes. He was always the leader of the children who would pick on him. Concern was turning into panic as he drew out of slumber the next morning. He had an awful feeling.

Apparently, Natalia had also. The moment Ivan had opened his door to rush out into the cold, winter air, he nearly toppled over the small frame of his younger sibling.

"Natalia, what are you doing here? I was just going to-"

"I want to visit big sister again. But I did not want to go alone. Her boyfriend…he creeps me out. May you come with me Ivan?"

Ivan sighed, but nodded. He had not planned to have her accompany him, but it seemed he had little choice. They strolled together at a quick but not necessarily rushed pace. Both knew their paranoia was likely just that; paranoia. But still, it burned in their minds and neither would be satisfied until they saw that all was well.

When they arrived at Yaketerina's home, Ivan was about to knock, when the pair heard disconcerting sounds from within.

"Big sister, might we come in?"

"Go away Russian boy," the Ukrainian voice of the woman's boyfriend huffed from within.

Natalia and Ivan shared horrified looks and the male opened the door, which was not locked, thankfully. When he stepped in, the first thing he noticed was the red liquid which tainted his boots. His heart leapt into his throat. What was that? It couldn't be-

Natalia shrieked, alerting both her brother and the creep who was dating her sister. The contorted body of her older sister lay at the bottom of the stairs with a pitchfork in her gut, blood spurting from the wound in her abdomen and discoloring her skin and hair. Ivan didn't know whether to weep or growl, but either way his burning eyes tore from the mangled mess of corpse and to the presumed culprit.

"Ya budu chertovski ubit' vas!" he screamed, tears pouring down his cheeks.

The older man grabbed the pipe he had had in his hands just a moment prior (as he was fixing the sink at the time) and swung it at the younger male. It caught his head and crashed through his skull, but it wasn't an instant death.

The last things Ivan heard were the terrified cries of his sister, and the man who had bullied him all his life speaking, "Nemaye trokhy rosiys'kyy Khlopchyk, ya ne vb'yu tebe."

"Nyet," Ivan whispered hoarsely; his last words.

"Ukraine, big sister!" Russia cried as he approached his sister with an arrow sticking out of his head.

Even in this life, he was bullied by the other children. Thankfully though, he would not remember that.

But Belarus did, as she created a pair of snow breasts in the snow whilst her older sister attempted in vain to comfort her older brother.

**A/N First off, I forgot in some of the chapters to translate the words, but once again, I didn't use Google translate or anything and my Russian and Ukrainian are definitely more than a little rusty, so if anyone from those countries or who speaks the language notices a mistake in grammar, wording, or spelling, please let me know, and I apologize. Anyway, 'sestra' is sister. What Ivan says when he is confronting the man should be something along the lines of "I will fucking kill you" please pardon my coarse language, and the Ukranian man should say something like "No, little Russian boy, I will kill you" and "Nyet" (not sure if I spelled that correctly) is obviously "no" in Russian.**

**Also, I really hope the last sentence made you contemplate and laugh at the same time, because that is what it did to me.**


	8. Austria

A young man sat at his piano, gently caressing the yellowed keys with his soft fingers while a small child looked on; his son. Luca was the child's name, and his father, Roderich, loved him dearly. A few years prior, his mother had passed away from terminal cancer in the lungs, and Roderich was "making up" for this in the boy's life by being incredibly lenient with his child. Rarely did he shout, and it was even rarer for the man to play the disciplinarian and actually punish the kid. With few rules to abide by, and miniscule consequences when he broke one of the few rules, Luca became sweet natured, but spoilt, constantly pushing the buttons of his father, and also his school teachers. But right now, listening to his parent's music, he was calmly grinning, allowing the notes to "embrace him in a dance" as his father had once said.

"Vati, can I play now?" the little boy asked.

Roderich glanced at his son uneasily, then back at his beloved piano. The boy was ten, so it should be okay to let him play it, but if the child was clumsy or careless enough to damage the instrument…well, it was irreplaceable in Roderich's opinion. The instrument was aged, which created a particular sound that held beauty beyond compare, and it wasn't cheap to replace the musical tool.

"Um, not right now, kind. Vait until you are older."

Luca looked down slightly in dismay, "Ja, Vati. Okay."

Roderich smiled and ran is fingers through his son's brown curls. The boy looked so much like him, but he had those eyes. His mother's brown doe eyes that could make the coldest heart melt. Beautiful eyes, and, at the moment, saddened eyes.

"Vati loves his stupid piano more than he loves me," Luca sighed later, curled up on his bed in his room.

The boy sniffled, anger in his eyes. Somewhere in his mind, he knew this statement wasn't true, and that his father would gladly smash his piano to pieces for his son, but the boy was caught up in his pity party and refused to see this. Disgruntled and feeling particularly bratty, Luca stood, and stormed out of the house, not escaping his father's notice.

"Luca? Luca!" Roderich stood, and ran out of the house, where the boy was running down the slope of their yard that lead to the road, no doubt intending to complain to his friend Tobias, across the street.

"Luca! Come back here now!" Roderich called, "Come back or you are in a lot of trouble!"

Luca snorted, and continued to speed down the hill, momentum pushing him along and gravity tugging on his hand, encouraging the young boy to continue forward. He heard the truck before he saw it, but had no time to stop, for when he attempted to halt in his tracks, he tripped over his own sneakered feet and skidded out into the road.

Roderich, despite knowing his pursuit was now futile, leapt out into the road (the vehicle now having passed, without so much as stopping) and grabbed hold of his blood-soaked son. The boy's head was cracked clean open, his brain fluid and tissue splattered behind him, and other wounds from the pavement covered his body, especially his face, to the point that he was nearly unrecognizable. Tears didn't sleep from the musician's eyes, they rained down like waterfalls, crashing down to the asphalt as he gripped the deceased boy.

It was his fault. He was too lenient on the child, he was too caught up in his symphonies to acknowledge the fact that his son felt neglected. Roderich cried out as he sat at his piano bench, aggressively banging at the keys in an _almost _rhythm. When did Luca begin to feel that way? Roderich had tried to pay attention to him, all the time. He showered him with affections and toys and attention. Was it because he wouldn't allow the boy to play the piano?

Roderich slammed his fist down on the keys hard enough to loosen some of the yellowed pieces and knock others from their spaces. First his wife, then his son; he was a failure as a husband and a failure as a father. There was nothing left for him, not even his music. The mad musician banged on the piano once more, and again, and another time. It felt good. It felt amazing, actually. He kicked at the piano with his booted foot, and again. He punched the smooth, yet chipped, wood, ignoring the blood painting his knuckles. The man opened up the lid of the instrument, revealing the complex interior and smashing down on the delicate mechanics held within. The strings bit his wrist and hand as he did so. Wait, the strings.

Tears blurred his vision, but he still knew what he was doing when he pulled one of the strings hard enough for it to snap and come off in his hands. He wrapped it around his soft throat and pulled as hard as he could, but found it impossible to end his own life in this way. He snatched a few more of the strings, twisting them in a rope type of structure and wrapping it around a beam near the ceiling, standing on a stool and kicking off.

His neck didn't snap like it should have. Instead, the poor man hung there, thrashing wildly as his oxygen supply very slowly ran out. His lungs burned as he kicked, and punched, and flailed, and lurched, before finally losing energy and hanging limp until his life force depleted.

"Mr. Austria?" a small voice startled the musical country from the melody he was composing.

"Ja, vhat is it, Italy?"

The chibi nation looked up cautiously, afraid to anger the man. Austria was a strict disciplinarian, big on rules and restrictions, but he was kind.

"May I watch-a you play?" the little boy, mistaken as a little girl, questioned politely.

"Ja."

Italy smiled widely and climbed up on the seat next to his caretaker, smoothing out his dress over his legs. After a while, Italy peeked up at Austria's face again, biting his small lip.

"Mm…Mr. Austria?"

"Vhat is it now?" Austria ceased his playing and turned his full attention on the toddler.

"Um, may I-a play?"

"Nei-…ja, Italia. Ja, you may try."

Italy gave a small cry of, "Yay!" and leaned over to reach the keys, but found it very difficult. Austria smiled slightly and lifted the boy, placing him on his lap so he could better touch the fine instrument and create sound. Amazingly, the boy was not terrible at drawing music from the old, musical tool, but Austria really shouldn't have been surprised, considering the boy was already known to be artistically gifted.

"I could teach you to play piano, Italy. If you vanted."

Italy nodded, "Si, si! Grazi, Mr. Austria!"

That was the first time Italy listened to Mr. Austria play, which would be followed by many more, and it was the first time Italy played the piano. But it wouldn't be the last.

**A/N Alright, so it was very difficult for me to figure out how he should die. All I knew was that he should have a child and be very lenient with the kid, which gets the child killed. This is why he is very strict in his next life, because even though he doesn't remember his past life, somewhere in his subconscious he is convinced that he needs to be very restrictive and authoritative. Originally, I was going to go with the "Alice Human Sacrifice" second Alice scenario, where he goes mad and shoots himself (although I go back and forth on whether I believe he shot himself or was shot by someone else) but since I have already had a few of the characters be shot (either by themselves or by someone else) I wanted to go with something else. For some reason I could see Austria (ahem, excuse me, **_**Roderich **_**hanging himself, so I went with that, but I wanted an element of his piano involved with his death, so he hanged himself with the piano strings. Fun fact: I briefly considered having Austria be crushed by the piano (like maybe in his 'temper tantrum' he tips the thing over and it falls on him or something) but A) that is really unlikely, and B) it seemed too cartoonish in my opinion, like a falling anvil in Animaniacs (and yes that show is before my time so I'm not sure if you'll get the reference I'm making). Anyway, I'm done rambling.**


	9. England

"_Mummy! Mummy!" a little blonde haired boy ran into the kitchen, clutching onto his mother's violet colored dress._

"_Oh, what is it Arthur?"_

"_Flying Mint Bunny stole my biscuit and won' give it back. Can I have another?"_

At first she thought it was simply imaginary friends; most boys his age had them. But then he reached the age of twelve, and still had the fabrications in a delusional fantasy or realism, she became increasingly concerned. At the age of seventeen, the boy was diagnosed.

Schizophrenia ailed the child, it was decided. His mother and father both took the answer with acceptance, but his oldest brother took it as another excuse to bully the kid.

It was Halloween and Arthur Kirkland was dressed up as a pirate, ready to go to the party his friend had sat up, even if it seemed a little childish for a man in his twenties to be celebrating Halloween. A thick, red coat hung over him, a black eye patch was placed over his right eye and in his hands he held an antique sword he "borrowed" from his father, who was a collector. His father had no idea.

"Artie!" a high pitched voice called out to him.

Arthur didn't need to look beside him to know it was. He growled angrily, "Go away Mint. Leave me alone."

"But Artie, I just want to play with you!"

"No! You're not real!"

A chuckle brought him out of his thoughts and he looked into the blazing green eyes of his brother.

"Heh, little Artie talkin' to his imaginary friends again?"

"Go away Alistair." The boy muttered.

"Aw, what's wrong little Artie? Wanna have some alone time with your winged rabbit?"

"Shut up!"

"**Kill him."**

"Hm?" Arthur turned to the green colored mammal floating to his left. Something was wrong. The normally bright, benevolent eyes of the rabbit were tainted red with malice.

"**Kill him! He just wants to separate us! Can't you see? He's been mean to you ever since you were little. Kill! HIM!"**

Before Arthur could contemplate his actions, he thrust the sword into the side of his brother, causing the red head to shout and fall to the pavement with a thud.

"**Now…kill yourself!"**

"Wha-?"

"**Kill yourself! And we'll be together forever."**

Arthur's worried parents called the police when they called him a few days post Halloween, and he never picked up. They then tried to call their oldest son, Alistair, but couldn't get a hold of him either. Police would find both boys not too long later in the woods. The twenty five year old blonde smiling sadly, slumped against a tree, and the thirty year old red head mangled on the ground, his face contorted in an expression of shocked pain. They proposed that the younger male had a fit of schizophrenia and killed his sibling and then himself. They never would have guessed that the whole thing was set up by a flying, green bunny.

**A/N Originally he was going to be burnt as a witch in old England, because I didn't want him to be tripping on LSD like most people write (mainly because I'm really not sure how to write that accurately) but decided against it…because I forgot my original plan until I was halfway through this one. I may write my original idea later, because one of the things I wanted to mention was his involvement in the church. Either way, I think you all can tell why I made him schizophrenic, even if it may seem cliché. You'd be surprised how little the quantity of stories I've seen proposing this theory really is, namely, none. All the stories I've read say he's high or something.**


	10. France

He was notorious for "falling in lust", but this time, it wasn't lust. It was love. He loved this woman before him with the cropped blonde hair and stunning, beautiful eyes. Her name was Lisa. He and Lisa had been friends for a while now, but he never had the guts to ask her out, and he would come to regret that, namely when she would introduce a handsome young man from her school as her boyfriend. He congratulated them sadly with a sorrowful heart.

Maybe it wouldn't have happened if not for his reputation. Lisa and he had been friends since High School, but even back then, he knew she wouldn't go out with him. She was a strong and intelligent young woman along with her stunning appearance; she was too wise to fall for the tricks of a player, even her best friend. On the other hand, however, Lisa had wanted to ask her Francis on a date, but, she was raised by the American traditions of her homeland of waiting for the boy to make the first move. Besides, as previously stated, she was far too clever to fall to the charm of a playboy, and was patiently waiting for the day her pal changed. Apparently she was not wise enough, however, to avoid a complete and utter asshole, considering that is what she was dating. It wasn't until they were about three weeks into the relationship that she noticed this about him.

He was arrogant, rude, and constantly ordering her around; she couldn't figure out if it was because he was French, or because he was a jerk. Was that considered alright here? Because she had been surrounded by the country since tenth grade, and now in college, it seemed it would be awfully late to be just noticing that now. She didn't tell Francis about his egotistical, narcissistic, intolerable other persona, yet she didn't know why. Was it a pride thing? It certainly wasn't for fear of the other man beaten up her boyfriend; Francis talked big and acted tough, but when it came to fist fights, he wasn't your man to go; he'd much prefer run away and talk his way out of things.

This night was particularly bad. She was used to the verbal abuse, biting at her like sharp lances into her skin, tearing at her soul, but he had never become physically violent; that's the main reason she still tolerated him. This night was different. This night, he was aggressive. It began with a slap, stinging across her cheek, reddening the flesh so it appeared as though she was blushing on one side of her face. She looked tearfully up at the clearly inebriated man who then grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a hard shake, spitting words like venom that she didn't hear, before letting go and allowing her to topple down the stairs, cracking her skull open and ending her life.

Francis stared down at the grave stone, polished and cleaned and beautiful, just like she had been. A single tear slipped from his left eye as his fist clenched around the bundle of roses he was holding; they had always been her favorite. In neat, black, French script, her name was engraved in the centre of the morbid stone:

**Lisa Joan Arcum**

Lisa Joan Arcum. His beloved; his love; his best friend. She was buried in America, which was where he was at the moment, surrounded by Nevada: her hometown.

He knew who did it; who killed his precious Lisa. And he would get his revenge for her. It was midnight when he stomped up to the house Lisa and her 'boyfriend' had been living in. That asshole had the nerve to still occupy the house where he had killed her. A dagger was clutched tightly in Francis' hand as he opened the door (he still had the key Lisa had given to him) and marched up the stairs as loudly as he could, making a show of it. He slammed open the door to the guy's room and pounced on the other man, stabbing him straight through the heart before the dude even had time to comprehend what was happening.

"Lisa, I'll come back to you. I'll see you in Heaven. Je suis desole." He plunged the dagger into his own chest, slowly feeling the life and blood alike drain from him. He wouldn't see her in Heaven, but he would see her again.

She was a tourist with blonde hair and bright eyes. She was his Joan of Arc, France knew that. But he would never remember a girl named Lisa Arcum whom he had loved.

**A/N Finally I got this one done! It took me a few days, but part of that is because of AP classes. Pardon my 'French' (swearword), although I do believe that is English. Sorry, I'll stop being a smart Alec. Also, I feel like this story seemed to centre more on Lisa "Joan of Arc" than Francis. Anyway, I wanted a "Romeo and Juliet" type of scenario for this one because of his obsession with love in the anime. Also, originally he was actually going to be from the 1400s and actually fight alongside Jeanne d'Arc (Joan of Arc) whom he is in love with, but then she dies and we go right back to Shakespearean tragedies. Then I realized I would not write a scenario for that time frame in France very well and put it into modern times instead. Don't blame me, blame the American education system, I was in AP World History last year I didn't learn crap. Either I am incredibly smart or everyone around me are morons. Take your pick. Also, props if you know why I chose the name Lisa. Oh and also, I'm sure I am not the first to come up with this, but I tend to say that people who are "in love" with very attractive people all the time (so basically a player in denial) I say they tend to "fall in lust" so that's what I meant by that.**

**Also, I forgot to add the last part of England's chapter when he is in the Hetalia world, so I'll put that down here.**

"**Hi, Flying Mint Bunny," a blonde haired boy dressed in a green cloak greeted.**

"**Ohonhonhon, what are you doing Britain; talking to your imaginary friends again?" France teased, walking up behind the younger boy.**

"**Shut up, git! At least I don't look like a girl!"**

**The smile dropped from France's face slightly, but either way he sat next to the British nation, ruffling the already messy hair upon the child's head.**

"**Hey, stop that! You're messing up my hair." Britain whines, smacking France's hand away lightly.**

"**What is zhere to mess up?"**

"**Git." Britain mumbled while France laughed.**

**I was kind of trying to compare Big Brother France in Hetalia to Arthur's brother in the 'real' world. They both tease the boy, but France was more humored and brotherly (at least in my fluffy mind) whilst his first life's brother was simply mean.**


	11. Belarus

A blood curling scream sounded, grating her ears. Was her scream or someone else's? No, it had to be her own; who else here would be screeching? Her brother was dead and Natalie stared numbly at the corpse, her sister was also lifeless, and the cackling man responsible for the deaths certainly wasn't screaming horrifically.

"Come here little girl; join your big brother and sister."

The nineteen year old stood suddenly, her dress flowing around her with the sudden movement like an ocean wave. Her hand shot out and clutched the closest thing to her, a small knife, which she used to thrust into the stomach of the cruel man. He hissed in pain and back-handed her across the face, causing the teenager to squeak and more tears to pour down her cheeks. Despite the emotional and physical trauma of all that had occurred, she forced herself to slice into his flesh again, and again, and again until he was long past dead, but she kept slashing, sobbing all the while.

Before she ran out of the house, she dialed the police and made her exit. Natalia was accused for the murders, but no one would find her hiding place deep in the forest, where she mourned the loss of her siblings each and every night. They would never find her. But then one day, someone did. He was a young hiker, just a child at seventeen years, and he had spotted her, dress torn, hair muddy and blood stained, weapon still in hand. He had spotted her and then called out for his older brother, who had lagged behind just a bit. Natalia panicked and held a hand over the boy's mouth, stabbing him to stop him from thrashing and flailing, and seeing no other option, Natalia killed the kid. And then, when his twenty five year old brother witnessed the carnage, she killed him as well.

That was the spark. That was the moment that caused her to crawl out from under the table and take up arms. She was done hiding.

_Natalia Alfroskaya, you have been accused of the murders of thirty three citizens of Belarus and Russia._

_Ivan Braginski._

No, it wasn't her. It was her sister's asshole fiancée.

_Yekaterina Braginskaya._

Asshole Ukranian man.

_Aleksei Melnyk._

Ah, there was the asshole. Yes, she killed him, and he deserved to rot in the Hell she hoped he was trapped in.

_Abram Adolov._

The boy in the woods.

_Valery Adolov._

The boy's brother.

_Boris Avilov._

A young man her age in an alley way. He was handsome.

_Anton Ageykin._

An older man strolling down an empty street. He was not handsome.

_Larisa Mitkin._

She was a middle aged woman who had gotten on Natalia's nerves with her bitching about some obnoxious American tourists.

_Brian Collins._

One of the obnoxious American tourists.

_Alyssia Gordon._

Another American tourist.

_Christoph Terrance._

The third American tourist.

_Artur Nabatov._

She couldn't remember him. All she recalled was a fistful of blonde curls and a girlish scream.

_Lucya Karvov._

Ah yes, her. She was one of the girls that used to tease big brother. She got what she deserved for making Ivan cry when they were children.

_Oksana Krutin._

She was all black curls and bright eyes, a beautiful young lady. She was in the wrong place at the wrong place.

The man recited the rest of the list of deceased people at her hands before asking, "Do you have any final requests before your execution?"

"Yes. Kill me as painfully as possible. I want my death to wear down on your conscience!" she hissed.

A little girl sat in the snow while her bog brother cried about the bullying. Just like old times, the ex-serial killer thought morbidly. The tot remembered everything. But why?

**A/N BTW that's why she's so protective of her big brother, because she watched him die and I have it in my head that she was closer to Ivan than human Ukraine (I don't want to type her name again, I swear it will haunt me in my nightmares). For some reason the song Adrenaline by Shinedown kept playing in my head whilst writing this.**


	12. Ukraine

He was violent; she knew this. But she loved him, and that was what mattered right. She labored in the fields of her farm; wasn't that the man's job? No matter, Yekaterina liked being a 'strong, independent' type, even if she knew she wasn't. It was nice that people saw her that way though, and not some sex figure do to her, erm, voluptuous in appearance, particularly in the attribute attached to her chest. She had often been teased, oddly enough, for being a bit top heavy even at the ripe age of thirteen. It was nice to be seen as a person rather than an object of sensual pleasure, and she felt she gained that with her fiancée. But he was violent.

She had just had a beer bottle hurled at her when she heard a knocking at the door. Thankfully, the glass container had missed her and shattered on impact of the wall behind her, but the mere action startled and frightened the woman, enough to make tears run down her face even. She wiped them away and feigned a smile unconvincingly as she answered the door, surprised to see her younger siblings there appearing concerned. Ivan and Natalia. She had basically raised the pair herself, and now they were both adults, even if Natalia was just barely an adult and often still looked upon as a child by the community, who had known her since she was very little. She got through the little exchange with them and returned home to an angry boyfriend. He beat her that night, but they lived far enough away from everyone else that no one was there to hear his yelling and her cries and the sound of flesh forcefully hitting flesh. No one was there to save her. But whom did she need saving from? She loved him.

The major incident occurred the night after, when she had accidentally spilled his stew whilst he was intoxicated with his beloved beer.

"Vy durna suka!" he spat, slapping her across the face hard enough to throw her to the floor.

The Ukrainian man sat on top of her and wrapped his hands around his wife-to-be's throat, throttling the kind woman to death, until her life slipped away completely and she lay there, limp. Still not sober enough to care, he proceeded to fix the sink, when he heard a knock at the door, and the Russian boy's voice.

She would always be there for her little brother and sister, since no one else would be. Ukraine stroked Russia's hair back while he slept peacefully after another long day of being picked on by those other children.

"I am sorry brother, but I promise you, things will become better."

**A/N Yeah, I apologize for the shortness of it; I was getting tired with this 'arc'. But on the bright side, I am sick (yep, totally bright, I say sarcastically) so my parents have allowed me to stay home from school today and possibly tomorrow. Hopefully I do not regurgitate all over my laptop though.**


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